


Sans Junk Drawer

by HistoricallyDragon



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Angst, Grief/Mourning, Timeline Shenanigans, implied depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:13:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22097695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoricallyDragon/pseuds/HistoricallyDragon
Summary: One shots and short stories improperly stored to annoy Mari Kondo.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Enkidu

It’s a beautiful day outside. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming. On days like this; kids like Frisk were often playing in the park across the street.

There was one now with the same color of brown hair as the human ambassador, but their skin was darker. Humans all looked the same at first, but there were all these tiny differences in how their skin and faces were made up that monsters had a hard time picking up on. At least with Papyrus and Sans it was obvious; Papyrus was the good-looking one and Sans almost always had his hoodie and jacket. It had been a shock to Toriel and Asgore to learn humans couldn’t see any resemblance between Frisk and pictures of their long lost Chara.

Hilarious.

“Brother? Are you feeling well?” Papyrus interrupted Sans’ musings. “You’ve been staring out that window for quite some time now.”

Sans turned away from the human kids reveling in their ‘summer vacation’ outside. “All good, Pap.” He said, feigning cheerfulness.

Papyrus narrowed his sockets at Sans in a look that was more than just suspicion. Sans rolled his eye lights and held still while his brother Checked his stats. After a moment that most humans wouldn’t notice, Papyrus nodded. “Alright then. Breakfast is ready, come eat.”

Sans did as he was told with none of the reluctance he felt for Papyrus’s spaghetti. Toriel had been working to undermine Undyne’s cooking lessons and now most of what Papyrus turned out was edible, sometimes enjoyable. Unfortunately, spaghetti remained a staple of the menu and Papyrus refused to change his ‘recipe’.

Today’s breakfast was a pale brown goop with dark brown splotches and bits of blue and red mixed in. Sans lifted his spoon and poked at it. The brightly colored bits were too small to be melting dinosaur eggs and the smell was funny -no hint of ash or lingering mildew. Oatmeal, but not as Sans knew it. Once again, Sans placed his life in Tori’s hands as he lifted his spoon and tried the stuff.

Edible. Some parts almost good. It was still kind of soggy and bland, but there was also sweetness and a light tang. It wasn’t too bad. “This is pretty good. What is it?”

Papyrus, as always, lit up at the compliment. He was so easily cheered that it boiled over into his signature laugh. “Nyeh-heh-heh! Oatmeal, silly! Lady Toriel taught me to prepare it from basic ingredients -no packets! She suggested berries and brown sugar! The berries are ‘in season’, which I understand means they are better at this time of year than other times.”

“Tori was right. This stuff’s _berry_ good.”

“Of course-” Papyrus stopped with a noise that rattled through his sinus cavities before he barked, “SANS, PLEASE! DO NOT WASTE THIS PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL DAY ON YOUR BLASTED PUNS!”

Sans grinned. “Come on, Paps, how often have I told a fruit pun?”

Papyrus began to launch a retort, gloved hand in the air and ribs expanding beneath his shirt as he prepared a long response, but then he hesitated. His own grin slipped as he assented, “Yes, it is true that you have not had many opportunities to tell fresh fruit related puns. And your excessive norm of endless bone puns has been noticeably decreased since we came to the surface, which I do appreciate. Perhaps I could let it go this time.”

“Thanks Pap.” Sans took another spoonful filled with pieces of berries and brown sugar. “That’s _sweet_ of you.”

“NYEH!” Papyrus groaned as he returned to the kitchen to bemoan his brother’s lost potential.

Sans chuckled as he ate. His brother never, never failed to cheer him up and, tibia-nest, this new oatmeal was growing on him. It had a robust quality to it that humans probably found filling and he could feel himself drawing a good deal more from this than Papyrus’s scrounged packages of dinosaur oatmeal. How did the humans put it? Sans’ eye lights flared. “Stick to your ribs”! Oh, he could get a lot of mileage out of this one. Papyrus would hate it so naturally Sans would have to drag it out incessantly, ad nausea, aeternitas, Unus Annus, et cetera .

Or, at least he’d try.

On the calendar Papyrus had nailed to the wall there was a large orange circle around tomorrow. An orange circle to distinguish the day from the red, black, blue, green, yellow, and brown circles around other dates Papyrus had marked as important this month. One year since Frisk had broken the barrier and led all monsters to freedom. There was going to be a shindig. Toriel had spent the last few days baking up a storm. Mettaton had a venue booked, all the monsters (sans Sans) had put a lot of effort into the party. Alphys and Undyne were combining forces to arrange security. Papyrus was decorating, sending invitations to all monsters, posting on the Undernet, and a half dozen other tasks. Every monster (including Sans) was going to be there. There were a lot of humans invited as well: government and school types who had moved political and paper mountains to let Toriel open a previously closed school for mixed monster/human student attendance, all the human teachers who had requested transfer to the school, Mettaton’s managers and entourage, Napstablook’s manager, the coffee guy who’d gone into business with the NiceCream bunny, humans who employed monsters or aided them against less understanding humans; the list was huge -thankfully, so was the venue. Everybody was expected to come to tomorrow’s one-year anniversary celebration.

So tonight; the kid was going to Reset.

“Brother?”

Sans shook himself from his thoughts. “Sorry, Papyrus. You said something?”

Papyrus set a bowl of fresh berries on the table. “You are mad at something.” He accused.

Sans rubbed a hand over his eye sockets. He hadn’t been aware he’d let them go dark. “Just thinking about wearing that tux tomorrow. Those shoes… Pap, it just ain’t right!”

“Nevertheless, you must wear them.” Papyrus scolded. “You will be tidy and you will look your best! No one will even recognize you because I, _The Great Papyrus_ , will make sure you don’t look the least bit lazy!”

“Nobody said nothin’ about a costume party.” Sans complained.

~*~*~

“Okay, almost done. Damn- er, _wow_ your hair is easy to work with.” Undyne said. Frisk wasn’t sure how to answer that.

That morning, Frisk had been feeling guilty about the party and decided to ask Toriel if she knew anything about human hair. The plan was to spend a nice mother-daughter evening together, but Toriel was thoroughly busy with her baking. This led to a phone call to Undyne and -surprisingly- the fish monster knew a lot about hair. Apparently, Undyne’s red hair was the ‘dry, brittle, and difficult to manage’ type -who knew?

In short order, Frisk had been subjected to a hair mask, wash, condition, cold rinse, and moisturizing treatment. All the while Undyne had been taking calls and texting to ensure security was in place for tomorrow’s party. They managed to get some gossip in while Undyne vigorously combed, brushed, and styled Frisk’s hair. Despite how much PASSION! Undyne put into this process, it was surprisingly painless.

“Okay, now we’re ready.” Undyne announced. “Put your hands up, punk.” Frisk did as she was told and was enveloped in scratchy, stiff material until Undyne managed to pull the dress down into place, then zipped up the back and tied the sash. The former captain of the Royal Guard who had repeatedly killed Frisk in alternate timelines, fussed over Frisk’s hair for another minute or so before sitting back with a satisfied huff. “Okay. Dress rehearsal’s done.” She announced. “HEY! TORIEL!”

Frisk looked in the mirror as Undyne ran from the room calling for Toriel to hurry up, and to bring a camera. There didn’t appear to be much more to her hair than it was smooth for a change and had a ribbon that matched the dress. How many hours of work for smooth hair? Seriously? And the dress… Below the sash it was fluffy and sparkly with tons of glitter and gauzy material. Frisk hated, hated, hated dresses.

But…

The image of Sans in the men’s wear section rose up before Frisk. He’d looked like he was in physical pain, but he held still and was nice to Papyrus as his brother chose between a wide assortment of bow ties. Each bow tie had to be properly tied to best display their potential, but Sans didn’t refuse a single one. Even his mysterious ‘belly’ was even less prominent, as if Sans were sucking in his magic all to make Papyrus happy.

In every timeline since, while Toriel or Undyne or sometimes Alphys fretted trying to make Frisk ‘pretty’ for the party, Frisk would think hard about the way Sans was very plainly containing himself for Papyrus and set their Determination to do the same. Again, Frisk lifted her chin and pasted on a smile as Mom came in and gasped. “Oh! My child, you look _wonderful!_ ” Frisk thanked her graciously and did a little spin so the gauzy skirt flared out from where it fell near her knees, then patted her head and asked Undyne what to do about the hair until the party.

“No problem, punk! I’ll stop by before the party and set ya right! Stay away from Mettaton, though.” Undyne snapped a picture of Frisk and sent it out to nearly everyone in her contacts list. “He’s got a new brand of hair products out. Alphys’ old toaster can’t understand synthetic hair isn’t a good way to test real hair stuff! NGAH!!”

A chime in the kitchen called Toriel. “Oh dear. There’s still so much to do before tomorrow night.” She fretted. “Excuse me. My child, Undyne.” The former queen of the Underground rushed from the room to check on her cakes.

Undyne crouched beside Frisk to share some of the responses that were coming back.

Alphys - _Wow!!! Tote adorbs!!!! TBH F kawai!!1!!_

Asgore – _As lovely as a flower in full bloom._

Papyrus – _VERY FANCY AND PRETTY TO LOOK AT! THE GREAT PAPYRUS SHALL SET THIS PHOTOGRAPH AS HIS WALLPAPER!_

Sans – _whats the occasion_

Papyrus – _WHATEVER MY BROTHER HAS JUST MESSAGED YOU, IGNORE IT._

Alphys – _yeet MMKC reboot 202X_.

Frisk giggled at the skele-brothers’ play, and Undyne said, “Yeah, she’s funny.” Her phone beeped again with an incoming call. “Just a minute.” Undyne stood as she answered, “Undyne, what’s up?” After making a couple of listening noises, Undyne gestured that she would be right back before stepping out of the room to bellow, “WHAT DO YA MEAN IT AIN’T READY!?!”

Frisk rocked back and forth on their heels for a moment, waiting. A soft breeze blew through the lace curtains of their room, bringing the scent of the garden Asgore tended despite not living in this house. A thrush chirped and lights flickered around the room from the small glass crystals Toriel had hung in the window to catch sunlight.

 _It’s a beautiful day outside…_ Frisk swallowed and looked away from the window. After a moment, they decided not to wait in the room and called out to ask Toriel if she wanted Frisk to change and help with the baking.

~*~*~

Their bedtime routine had grown longer. Not only was this because their jobs often kept them apart throughout the day, or because it had been disrupted for so long while they moved to the surface and settled in that their regular times together became more precious, but because there was so much more to read now that they could order books or go to the humans’ much larger and plural libraries. Now, they each read a chapter from whatever book struck their -Papyrus’s- fancy before settling down with a rereading of one of their favorites from Snowdin. It was great to read the new stuff, but it was soothing to read the old and familiar stuff… even if Papyrus did make that face when Sans insisted on Fluffy Bunny Fridays.

Tonight, however, Sans couldn’t focus. He was so distracted that he didn’t notice for at least a full minute when Papyrus calmly switched from reading an essay by Akira Tago to simply narrating, “My brother does not appear to be sleepy or ill, but he isn’t listening so I must assume something is on his mind. He won’t tell me what it is, of course, because he never does, but I worry all the same. More’s the pity, it really is an interesting essay even if Mr. Tago isn’t actually writing about puzzles.”

“Hmn?” Sans asked, finally keying in.

“Oh! Hello, brother. Have you finished gathering the wool?”

“Uh.” Sans realized he’d been caught and grinned sheepishly. “My bad, bro.”

Papyrus sighed and put the book of essays on the nightstand beside his bed. They’d been forced to leave his old racecar bed behind, but he didn’t seem to mind a normal bed now that he had his own, real car to drive. “I suppose that now, as ever, you do not wish to tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Sorry bro, just worrying about the party again.” Sans lied.

Papyrus scolded, “Perhaps if you had helped with the preparations, you would not be so worried.” He leaned back against the pillows and tilted his skull, “But then you still would not tell me what is bothering you, would you?”

Sans’ face went carefully neutral, he then sighed. “Sorry Paps, I just gotta work through this. And, really, the party’s a big part of what’s bugging me.” He managed a weak smile. “Tomorrow I’ll be back to my old self.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Papyrus said, the comment unusually cryptic for him. More in character, he explained, “You were like this before we came to the surface, you know. With your secrets and worrying. I do not enjoy seeing you like this again.”

“Like I said.” Sans insisted. “Tomorrow will be the end of it. Just wait and see.”

Papyrus hesitated, then nodded. “Very well, we shall see tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Papyrus.”

“Goodnight, Sans.”

Sans stood and left his brother’s bedroom, closing the door behind him. He had to remind himself not to lean against the door because Papyrus would hear that. Sans went to his room… and then he went to the kitchen…. And then he walked to the livingroom, and back to the kitchen, and it took far too long for Sans to realize that he was pacing his frustrations out.

“Heh, this is starting to look dangerously like exercise.” He noted. “Better stop before Papyrus or Undyne feel a disturbance in the Force.” Sans retrieved a bottle of ketchup from the cupboard -not in the mood for anything cold. He then sat at the table, holding his unopened ketchup and staring at that calendar. Again, it took him longer than it should have to realize that he was able to see the calendar perfectly with the lights out. Grumbling, Sans put a hand over his eye and doused the light of his magic.

He didn’t want another reset. Everything was going so good this time. Papyrus was in demand as a waiter and had been accepted at a cooking school for the fall term. Undyne had made it through the police academy and was working with a human gym to plan a training wing for monsters. Alphys was traveling to different places, lecturing on monsters to all the human genius types while Asgore did the same for the governmental types. Frisk was the official ‘ambassador’ though their duties at this age were basically that of a mascot -look cute and let people take pictures.

Sans’ hotdog stand was going okay, Toriel had even pulled some strings to get him all the legal stuff taken care of… which spoiled half the fun but whatever.

Papyrus was still learning about the human world and hadn’t quite figured out that his job as a waiter and Sans’ little food stand didn’t add up to enough to pay for a car loan, mortgage, utilities, food, insurance, and recurring kitchen repairs. Sans figured he tell Papyrus about the patents eventually… if they ever got to that damned party.

He _wanted_ to go to that party. Wear that suffocating suit, walk in those painfully stiff and slippery -heh- formal shoes. Slowly suffocate on that tie Papyrus had chosen and after far too many speeches and too much music, come home to read an exhausted Papyrus a bedtime story and go to bed knowing the next morning would be a new day.

But, no. There would be no new day.

Sans let his eye light up again and looked to the clock. Five after midnight. He didn’t know how much more of this waiting he could take, but he couldn’t just go to sleep on the surface and wake in Snowdin again.

He had to do something.

~*~*~

Frisk set the empty plate and fork aside, savoring the remnant of cinnamon butterscotch pie, heavy on the cinnamon and just how Frisk liked it best. They sat on the bed and listened as the neighborhood church’s bells chimed once, one in the morning. Just a little longer.

There was a rapping on the door, the noise was too solid to be Toriel’s furry hand. Sharp clacking, yet not loud. “Sans?” Frisk asked.

The door opened. “I guess it’s a little late for knock-knock jokes.” Sans conceded, stepping inside. The skeleton brothers lived on the opposite side of town, a couple miles away, but Sans was Sans.

Frisk stood up, “Sans, what? Why are you here? … it’s late and… the party…”

“Is there going to be a party, kid?” Sans asked. For the most part, they didn’t talk about the other times. It made them both very uncomfortable.

“Sans, please, you shouldn’t be here. I… I don’t…” Frisk pleaded.

Sans nodded as if Frisk had answered his question. “That’s what I thought.” Frisk retreated, then visibly steeled themselves to try again, but Sans interrupted. “Do ya gotta do it?” He asked. “Every time? I mean, you’ve broken the barrier and freed all the monsters I don’t know how many times now. It’s almost like there was never another way.” Frisk swallowed, their fingers fiddling. “I don’t blame ya for that anymore. It’s long past. But why? Why do you gotta put everyone back there? Please, give me something.”

Frisk swallowed and shook their head, “Please, Sans… I… I don’t…” They hiccupped and their face started clouding up in that way humans had. “I don’t want to cry, this time. Please…”

“Kid…” Sans started, but then Frisk flinched. They made a face that was so familiar Sans found himself looking to see who’s bullet pattern had hit them. He even checked himself, but there was no ambient magic in the area. “What?” He’d seen that face a thousand times before, too many times it was at his hands. The kid had just been killed… but how? “Frisk?!”

The kid put a hand to their chest and shuddered, breathing carefully. “Sans…” Coughing stopped them from saying anything else.

“Frisk, what just happened?” Sans demanded.

Frisk moved to sit on their bed, but missed and started to slide off the mattress. Sans caught them and Frisk clutched desperately at his jacket. They coughed. Sans pushed Frisk back just enough to get a good look and run a Check.

Frisk’s HP was gone.

Not low or empty, the entire damn thing was gone.

“TORI!” Sans yelled. He couldn’t use green healing magic much, he had no idea what to do now. “TORI!”

“…sans…” Frisk murmured as footsteps hurried toward them. “… sorry.”

“Sans? My child! What-”

*~*~*

“… brother! PLEASE, just try to stay awake! You don’t have to _do_ much, just stay awake and look for a passing human!” Papyrus pleaded. With a frustrated noise, he stormed off back to his own post and puzzles.

Sans tried to hide his disappointment, it looked like that particular pun had run its course, hardly a disdainful look. He’d definitely need to come up with something new and sneaky to really get Papyrus riled up next time. Much as he hated to admit it, Sans was running a little dry on new material and it showed most clearly in his failure to break Papyrus out of his recent funk. Sans was running out of ways to cheer his brother up,

And if a loved one getting gloomy didn’t terrify every monster down here…

Footsteps in the snow made Sans turn. One of the Royal Guardsmen -the fancy pants dog- was carrying something in his arms. “Sans?” Doge said, presenting the item. “I found a thing.”

“It’s certainly a thing.” Sans agreed. He stood up and walked over to where Doge stood, patiently waiting. Doge was a curious sort, he liked to act more proper and correct than the other dog guards and was less likely to be seen at Grillby’s than Papyrus, but he also liked to drag all kinds of weird stuff from the garbage dump or wherever for Sans to look at. Sans didn’t know why Doge dragged the stuff to him, but sometimes it was interesting so he never complained.

On second thought, never complaining was probably the reason why.

After thoroughly examining the ‘thing’ Sans figured it out. “What a weird looking lamp.” He said.

“Lamp?” Doge asked.

“Yup, a lamp. Probably broken though.” Doge’s ears drooped. “But… maybe I can fix it?” Doge’s ears went back up. “Yeah. Lamps are easy to fix. I’ll bring some stuff from my place and fix it up tomorrow, sound good?”

“Yes. If it is no trouble.”

“No trouble.” Sans said. “I’d be de-lighted.” He felt an itch in the back of his mind. YES! This was just what he needed to shake up his dry spell! This strange thing Doge had found could definitely illuminate more ways to entertain Papyrus.

“Thank you, Sans. I shall leave this lamp here and return to my duties. Good day.”

“Yeah, see ya.” Sans made a half-hearted wave as Doge primly walked back into the woods. Despite his composure, Doge’s tail was flapping back and forth, beating against his armor. At least ol’ comic Sans could still cheer _somebody_ up.

Sans took another look at the lamp. He assured himself that he could, in fact, repair the thing without destroying the weird glass molding. Then, he stepped back and examined the lamp from all angles to try and decide what it looked like. Nothing obvious so all puns would have to be directly lamp or light related. Not the worst limitations.

Grunting, Sans hefted the lamp and heaved it to a more prominent location by his sentry station, all the better to catch Papyrus’s attention in the morning.

Satisfied, Sans decided to go for a walk. The old lady was usually by her door about now and for some reason Sans had a nagging feeling she wanted to talk to him today…


	2. Babies by the Fence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning; Grief and Mourning.
> 
> I'm absolutely and utterly serious, heavy content ahead.
> 
> GRIEF AND MOURNING

Spring mud soaked the knees and shins of her pants.

Eve barely noticed because the sensation was familiar and fitting. The biting cold scratched at the nerves of her skin much like the icy hollows of her chest and stomach burned and caused her such physical pain. The pain never stopped. After five years, Eve could no longer remember herself before and now she couldn’t imagine herself without it. Eve was the pain, and anything else was the hollowness that grated along the pain. And here, with the icy snow melt seeping into her clothes and stealing her body warmth, here was the only place she could be herself and let herself be the pain and emptiness. This was the place of honesty.

Her hands twisted dried, dead stems. Thorns cut into her palms, drawing blood and scraping old scars from the same action months, years before.

Fresh flowers with vibrant petals and green stems lay across the small stone plaque Eve knelt before. The plague was tucked between two large stone monoliths. Giant headstones proclaiming the lives and deaths of family members known to people who had died before anyone Eve knew had been born. Full names, dates born, an epitaph, and the date they died.

The plaque between them read “Baby” with a single number.

Eve wept openly. She sobbed, holding herself and rocking in the mud. Sometimes she grew angry and slapped the ground while screaming through her teeth. Sometimes she slapped one or both monoliths. She didn’t punch them anymore, that had been a mistake, though it was a mistake she was often tempted to repeat.

It hurt and the hurt wouldn’t go away, and this was the only place of honesty.

Eve’s breath hitched. Exhaustion was setting in. She was forced to catch her breath and that was the only reason she heard the soft crush of dead grass and squish of mud beneath a foot.

Tired and -for the moment- emotionally spent, Eve sat back on her heels and turned toward the approaching figure. Had she not been so drained, Eve might have reacted more strongly than to lift her eyebrows when she saw a large, very large, monster. A famous one at that.

Taller than the two headstones beside Eve, stately, and -in the opinion of all monsters and many humans- quite lovely; Toriel was the former queen of monsters. Her fur was fine and whiter than the snow lurking in the shadows of the cemetery’s headstones, trees, and mausoleums. Her eyes and expression were gentle, falling as gently on Eve as the same snow had just a few months before. They flickered between Eve and the little plaque, softening further with pity.

“My child, it is cold.” Toriel said. “Perhaps you would consent to accompanying me?” She offered a giant paw of a hand. There were claws poking out of the fur, but Eve didn’t mind.

What could claws do?

Eve put her hand in Toriel’s, not even caring that they were complete strangers. Toriel helped her to her feet, wordlessly catching her when muscles cramped from the cold caused Eve to stumble. Patient as an oak, Toriel supported Eve as she worked the cold out and remembered the proper way to walk. Only when she was assured that Eve could manage on her own did Toriel release Eve, seemingly reluctant.

They walked side-by-side through the grounds. First they left the small area that had been walled off with a single line of small bricks, marking Eve’s family cemetery from the larger graveyard. Toriel gently guided Eve to a nearby footpath and they followed it.

Despite the brightly shining sun, the air was still bracingly cold. Spring was cold here. Young shoots of grass and stubborn baby’s breath flowers defied the morning frosts to push through last year’s dead grass. Rain hadn’t yet come hard enough to melt all the snow, and a late snow fall had recently given the remaining patches a fresh, clean appearance though any powder that fell on the ground or sidewalks had immediately melted.

They passed more family graveyards, and hundreds of individual headstones and plaques. A couple maintenance sheds and water spigots, a war memorial decorated with a slightly tattered flag to be replaced in a few weeks.

Save for the soft mud squishing but not giving way beneath their feet, the cemetery was utterly silent, unbroken by birdsong and even the soft breeze didn’t rustle the dead leaves clinging to trees that were just beginning to bud.

Instead of the gate or a fresh grave, or even the small statue recently placed so the local monsters could commemorate their dead, Toriel led Eve to the West side of the cemetery, near the main groundskeeper’s shed. Here was a rare patch of nearly empty ground. Several yards between a driving path and the property fence were filled only with two graves and two measured rows. To one side of this rare strip of open ground was a bench. It was a work of art; carved from granite and still shiny from the artist’s final polishing and buffing. Toriel removed her cloak-like winter coat and spread it over the bench before taking a seat on one side. She smiled gently at Eve and patted the covered bench beside her in gentle invitation.

Eve accepted, sitting.

It was warmer here. The wind still bit through the wet patches on Eve’s trousers, but she could feel the monster beside her.

They sat in silence. At first Eve expected Toriel to ask questions or chatter or whatever, but more than half an hour passed before the monster merely asked, in all sincerity, “Do you know why they called this place ‘Lakeview’?” When Eve answered in the negative, Toriel merely agreed, “Neither do I.” and the silence returned, not really disturbed by the question.

The question allowed Eve to reflect on the place. It really wasn’t anywhere near the town’s two lakes. Both lakes were past hills and rises that blocked them from view. Both were man-made artificial lakes younger than the cemetery.

Funny. Why did they call it ‘Lakeview Cemetery?’

A meadowlark landed on the ground in front of them, pecking the ground curiously before looking about as if soaking in the silence before flying away.

In five years, Eve had never really considered the cemetery itself. All that mattered was that little one-foot by two-foot patch of it. She let her eyes drift over the headstones and monoliths. Mostly white, some brown, grey, black, and even red. The trees -willow and cotton wood, all bare from the winter.

Eventually her eyes found their way closer until she turned her head and saw the sign placed beside the bench.

“In Memorial: Babies by the Fence.”

Distantly, Eve could remember this part of the cemetery before… before everything. There had been plaques here, too. Tiny little headstones. Heartbreaking wooden crosses. “Baby” and a year.

Pain lanced through her, a weapon from within tearing her to pieces. Eve choked and stood.

She hadn’t known about this bench. Eve looked out over the now empty patch of ground with the two distant headstones. “My god.” She murmured. “When did they…?”

Toriel didn’t look at Eve, only let her eyes continue to drift over this memorial to human mortality as she replied, “Two years ago.”

Eve shook. “How…” There had been so many here before, when she was still whole enough to pay attention and still innocent to feel nothing but a mild upset over the idea of so many graves marked only with “Baby” and a year. And now…

They’d been erased.

“No.” Eve repeated, staring at the level stretch of dead grass that looked like nothing had ever been there. “ _NO!_ ” The word screeched out and she stomped. “ _NO!!_ It’s not fair! It’s not right! How could they! Don’t they…? NO!” Eve clenched her fists in her hair. “NO!” She pulled until it hurt, yanked until the tears welled up in eyes already burning from crying so long today. “N-N-N!!!” Words didn’t come and she felt clogged up with the nothing until a sob tore free and the weeping began again. “No-o.”

Eve was barely aware of the cloak that had been on the bench wrapping around her shoulders, and the arms that wrapped around her as well, holding her tight as she sobbed and cried and _hurt_. She was pulled onto the bench and held. There was a voice. Warm and soothing. The voice only hummed. It didn’t shush her or tell her to get it out, or that things would get better. It only hummed, and held her, and sometimes rocked a little before going still.

It was a long time before Eve could look at that long stretch of grass and not start crying or raging again.

The fog of crying finally cleared and Eve found she’d snuggled into the soft comfort the former queen of monsters had offered her.

“Why does nobody understand?” Eve whimpered. “Why does nobody understand?”

Toriel kept a gentle arm around Eve’s shoulders as she removed something from beneath her blouse and gave it to Eve. It was a metal casing on a chain, like a very large locket. Eve’s hands shook with an exhaustion that left her too drained to complain about being an adult practically held in a stranger’s lap. Still, she forced her fingers to work the clasp and opened the metal casing to reveal a tintype. An old, old picture showing Toriel, King Asgore, a small child goat monster, and a human child shyly clutching a bunch of flowers so their face could hardly be seen.

“…oh…” Eve murmured. Distantly, she could remember hearing that the child ambassador wasn’t Toriel’s first child. Eve had never heard of a goat monster child, and the tintype was obviously too old to be showing the child ambassador.

“They do not understand, because they cannot.” Toriel said gently. She took a long, shuddering breath that Eve could feel tremble against her shoulder and side. “And when they cannot understand, it feels like a betrayal, does it not?”

Eve nodded. She brushed a finger over the tintype, wishing amorphous hopes. “Does the hurting ever stop?”

Toriel sighed, her hand on Eve’s shoulder tightening just a little. “No. It doesn’t stop. It doesn’t hurt less. But, you will gain the strength you need: I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My hometown's largest cemetery used to have a huge area by the fence filled with infant graves dating back over a hundred years. I was out of town when they decided to exhume the remains, remove their stones, and replace them with a memorial bench so there would be more room for new graves.  
> I'm not saying their decision was right or wrong, just that it affected me deeply.
> 
> Toriel's advice is taken from a real mother.


End file.
